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“If the alcohol was going to kill you, then you’d already be dead. Might want to think about giving your liver a break going forward, though.”
“You got drunk, too.”
“Some of us know to quit when we’re still ahead,” she replies primly. “I’m assuming Drake dropped you here after they let us back in the building because he was worried you’d puke in his bed instead of your own.”
“He can be really chivalrous like that.”
“I saw him carry you into the hotel last night like a caveman dragging his kill back to the lair, but then he was alone in the elevator a few minutes later. I hope he at least laid you on your side and gave you some water.”
Felicia sits primly on the couch when I finally stumble out of the bedroom. Her yellow sundress, white ballet flats, and serene expression make her look ready for a garden party with the Queen of England. By contrast, I feel like a hundred and thirty pounds of crap stuffed into a five-pound bag.
“You should drink more often,” I tell her, and I’m only about half-joking. “It would make me feel a lot better about myself.”
Sweet Felicia, who I’ve never heard say something negative about anyone, looks at me with absolutely no sympathy. “No, thanks.”
Anya chuckles as she sweeps past me. “Nobody told you to drink liquor from a brown paper bag. You wanted to act like a vagrant and now you feel like one. Sounds like you and the inevitable consequences of your actions have met again.”
I follow them out. Every step feels like I’m slogging through quicksand. “I really don’t like you right now.”
“You’ll get over it,” Anya replies airily, while Felicia doesn’t even bother to hide her burst of laughter.
I’m just the butt of everybody’s jokes today.
The hotel restaurant is nearly full of people. A smell of frying eggs and sugar wafts through my nostrils, making me simultaneously nauseous and ravenous. Hangovers are funny like that. A few minutes ago, the thought of eating anything made me want to vomit out a kidney. Now that I’m in the restaurant, the smell of sugar and dry oil wafting through the air is actually more than a little appetizing. We pass through the main area of the restaurant, heading for a large archway lined with flowers that leads to the patio.
My stomach loudly growls and Anya shoots me an amused smile over her shoulder.
I smile back, but it freezes on my face as soon as I realize where we’re headed.
Olivia sits at the head of a long table, set for about a dozen people. On either side of her are the flying monkeys, Serena and Maisie. The rest of the seats are taken by girls I recognize from school. None of their faces are friendly as we approach. Only three place settings on the far side of the table are still vacant.
When Anya makes a beeline for the table full of alpha bitches, I really regret not killing her.
I pitch my voice loud enough for her to hear over the clack of utensils on china and murmuring voices. “If you think this will go well, you are truly delusional.”
“This shit has to stop,” she says through a smile made mostly of clenched teeth. “We’re not in high school anymore. It shouldn’t be that hard for us to get along.”
“I am not the problem here.”
Her narrow gaze roves over me, taking in yesterday’s clothes and my general air of giving no fucks today. “Because you’re trying so hard.”
“Shut up.”
“Thanks for the brunch invitation, ladies,” Anya says brightly as we reach the table. Her tone is relaxed, but I can see the way her hands twist nervously together behind her back. Despite her outward assurance, Anya has to be worried that we’re about to humiliated in front of a room full of people. “This is great.”
Felicia softly murmurs hello. I doubt anyone hears it, but at least they can see her mouth moving. I don’t say anything until Anya bumps me with her shoulder.
“So great,” I repeat, drawing out the word long enough that it hopefully sounds sincere as I take the seat opposite Olivia at the foot of the table.
Here’s hoping I keep breakfast down.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I’d planned to go to the hotel’s security office by myself, but Cole follows me. It isn’t worth wasting time arguing with him to stay put, so I let him shadow me.
“You know, this is not how I planned to spend my weekend,” he comments as we get on the elevator.
I punch the button for the basement floor. “Glad to see you’re taking this seriously.”
